


Rinse and Repeat

by SunriseinSpace



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Failwolf, I Blame Tumblr, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-12
Updated: 2013-02-12
Packaged: 2017-11-29 01:14:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,143
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/681013
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SunriseinSpace/pseuds/SunriseinSpace
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Heh, is your underwear still pink?" he asks and Derek almost can't believe the gall of the man.</p>
<p>Derek inadvertently fails at doing his laundry and Stiles is forever amused.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rinse and Repeat

**Author's Note:**

> inspired by [this](http://carefulwiththatwolfwhistle.tumblr.com/post/42879417425/misslucid-stiles-leaves-his-red-sweatshirt-in)

He doesn't even pay attention, just tosses his clothes into the machine, dumps in the detergent and inserts the coins. He doesn't care. It's _laundry_. When he goes to move it over to the dryer, however...

"I don't--" he starts, not even caring he's the only person in the laundry-mat aside from the bored lady manning the office in the back. He pulls out a red, zip-front hoodie and stares at it as it drips onto the floor. A tense feeling of foreboding crawls across his shoulders and he reaches back into the washer, hoodie clenched in one hand as he pulls out one, two, three pair of...pink...underwear.

"Are you fucking kidding me?" he swears, only narrowly resisting the urge to thump his head against the solid bulk of the industrial-sized front-loading washer in front of him.

Every one of his white and/or light-gray items of clothing come out of the washer stained a decidedly _pink_ shade.

He's not amused.

He's just starting to consider re-washing the load, minus that _stupid_ red hoodie, regardless of how he'll have to put off doing one other load because of the change differential, when a snort of laughter draws his attention away from the pile of wet clothes.

"Shit, no, ohmygod," the guy behind him chokes, hand over his mouth to (ineffectively) muffle his laughter. "No," he points, "I'm so sorry, um...that's...that's mine," he manages, voice wobbly as he visibly tries to restrain his amusement. "The sweatshirt, I mean." There's an explanatory hand-gesture included and Derek almost feels the smoke pouring out of his ears.

"You owe me a load of laundry," he growls, holding up a pair of pink-white briefs as his only evidence (he feels it goes fairly far, in that regard - there's not a single bit of deep color in the load except _this_ guy's red sweatshirt).

"No, yeah, totally, I'm so sorry," and Derek would believe him except the words are almost completely obscured by the laughter that apparently won't be reined in anymore.

He snatches away the handful of quarters offered in his direction and feeds them into the machine before they can be remanded.

The hoodie-owner slides down the wall into a heap on the floor, he's laughing so hard.

\--

Somehow he's always there, the hoodie-owner, every time Derek goes to wash his clothes after. And, make no mistake, the snort of laughter Derek hears across the room as he loads his brights into the washer (having checked first, he learned his lesson, thankyousomuch) is never any less annoying as it was the first time.

There's even a note, the one week guy-with-the-hoodie wasn't there, telling Derek he _had a class, see you next week?_ , like this guy was someone Derek looks forward to seeing.

The fact Derek finally has a name ( _Stiles_ ) to pin to the hoodie doesn't change a thing.

\--

Three months after the Underwear Incident (shut up, the capitals are totally necessary), Derek carries his basket into the laundry-mat to find Stiles perched on top of Derek's favorite top-loader, headphones in and totally lost to the music as he rides the vibrations of the machine.

"Hey," Derek says, trying to gain his attention and regain the use of the washer. There's no response, even when Derek waves a hand in front of Stiles' face, lips quirking sideways when Stiles's fingers tap out the rhythm of the music he's listening to but nothing else changes. So, Derek hooks his finger in the headphone cord and yanks them out of Stiles's ears.

"Yo, I want the machine," he informs Stiles, steady over the indignant squawk the action garners.

"Dude, you couldn't be less of a dick about asking for it?" Stiles returns, glaring as he tugs the MP3 player out of his pocket and shuts it off. "I was just waiting for you anyway, my load's almost done," he continues, hopping off the machine and opening the lid, lifting out a familiar red garment as the wash-barrel spins to a stop. Derek watches, open-mouthed, as Stiles carts the still-dripping hoodie over to a dryer and tosses it in, before he turns to start his own laundry.

Sorting out all the dark t-shirts and blue jeans, Derek dumps them in the washer and spins the dial, feeding in the appropriate change and liquids as he does. There's a sort of silence in the building as the wash-cycle starts, Stiles on one end of the room - leaned casually against the wall by the dryers as he messes with his phone - and Derek at the other as he sorts out the washing for the week, and it lasts until the dryer Stiles is using rumbles to a stop and buzzes once.

"Oh, uh, that's me," Stiles says unnecessarily - he's the only one using the dryers right then - and stands away from the wall to pull open the machine. He shakes out the hoodie and there's just something about the way he simply shrugs into the garment that started this whole...relationship? (If so, it's been very one-sided, mostly Stiles babbling at Derek while Derek focuses on not staining his laundry again.) that throws Derek for a loop.

"So...I'll see you next week?" Stiles asks, his typical fare-well, making to slide past Derek on his way out the door and Derek suddenly realizes something.

He _does_ look forward to these encounters with Stiles every week.

With the thought, his hands shoot out, trapping Stiles against the top-loader and pinning him against Derek's body.

"Dude!" Stiles yelps, freezing in place, and Derek smirks, hauling him up onto the machine by his armpits.

"Derek," he introduces himself, for the first time, before leaning in and tasting that expressive mouth.

He falls easily into it, the slick back-and-forth of tongues and lips against the vibrating warmth of the machine under Stiles. It's easy, far easier than anything else has been in his life recently, and Derek lets it pull him under until it's a shock when the machine judders to a stop and Stiles pulls away.

"So," he breathes against Derek's mouth, warm and humid against kiss-bitten lips, "heh, is your underwear still pink?" he asks and Derek almost can't believe the gall of the man.

_Did you do it on purpose?!_ and _what the hell do you think?_ flash through Derek's mind as fitting responses but Stiles is sloe-eyed and pliant under him, legs spread around Derek's hips in the most suggestive way.

"Why don't you find out yourself?" he smirks as he leans in for another kiss, eyes falling shut again on Stiles' pole-axed expression.

"That," Stiles mutters, as Derek hauls him closer with a hand around his waist, "that is a thing we could _definitely_ do."

\--

The proprietor ends up chasing them out, wielding a broom and shrieking about them being "bad, bad boys" as they run.


End file.
